In a few days (God willing!) I’ll celebrate my 87th birthday. When I grew up I could (and did) carry a fully-functional .22 rifle to my High School to work on in my Shop class.
Since then I’ve watched a Right guaranteed to us by the Second Amendment gradually whittled down to a conditional permission. I’ve seen the results of the people taking action to stop a man who was sexually mistreating his own children. He died at the end of a rope (He wasn’t black either.) I’ve also watched my father disarm the local dogcatcher and throw the gun in a muddy creek.
Now though, I get to be entertained by keyboard commandos who eagerly buy evry accessory available for the Whiz-bang assault rifle they caress with more emotion than they show their wives or children. They’re all ready to go to war — as soon as their neighbors need some help.
Well, their neighbors need more than help, they need a new neighbor - one who does more than post pithy remarks from behind a curtain of anonymity.
Unless someone sees some truth in what I write and “steps off the porch, I’m of no help anymore. But I still hate to see the country I grew up in reduced to being led by “Joe and the Ho.”
Maga men. Maga!
I want the America that you and I grew up in. I want that back. I'm afraid there'll have to be blood to buy it back.